


An Afternoon In Geneva

by SeasonOfMists



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast, The Pretender (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:41:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21842368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeasonOfMists/pseuds/SeasonOfMists
Summary: After the world doesn't end, Alex Reagan has an unexpected meeting with an old acquaintance.
Relationships: Alex Reagan/Richard Strand, Jarod (the Pretender)/Miss Parker (the Pretender)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	An Afternoon In Geneva

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aproclivity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aproclivity/gifts).



> Happy holidays Aproclivity! I hope your first Yuletide has been a pleasant one. I also hope you enjoy your gift. It's a little out of the box, but its an idea that wouldn't leave me alone.
> 
> Timeline Notes: For The Black Tapes Podcast, this takes place after S306, "Into The Black". For The Pretender, about eighteen years after the events of "The Island Of The Haunted".

A worn paperback book plopped down on the table in front of Alex Reagan.

“Broots found that in a good will in Blue Cove," a woman said.

Alex hadn't heard that smoky voice in years but recognized it instantly. Its owner pulled out a chair across the table and sat down. Alex had the sudden realization that Miranda Parker would be one of those women who exuded effortless sex appeal at every age. The passage of time had barely left an impression on her face. Women were spending hundreds of dollars in salons to get the silver strands that naturally laced the hair at her temples.

Alex never expected to see her again. The oddness of the situation, combined with the light-headed giddiness of sleep deprivation, made her say the first thing that came to mind.

“I never took him for a Bronte fan,” she said.

Parker made a small grimace. “I did,” she said. The obvious affection in her tone made her words a joke. She reached out for the book between she and Alex. One of her well-manicured nails tapped the cover of the paperback.

““Reader, I went to Geneva,”,” Parker quoted the small change Alex scribbled in the back of Jane Eyre. “In all honesty, after your last show aired, I hoped you were smart enough to grab Strand and run."

“I’ve heard that a lot,” Alex said. 

Alex reached for the paperback. She’d left it at their favorite used book store in Seattle for Amalia to find. How it ended up in Blue Cove, Delaware, was another unsolved mystery in Alex’s life. Those seemed destined to follow her around. 

“Jarod was convinced you would do the right thing,” Parker said. “That you would go to Geneva.” She shook her head. “And here you are. Judging by the fact that the world doesn’t look like the screaming hellscape that Raines now hopefully calls home? I’d say you succeeded.”

Alex took a deep breath. “We did,” she said on the out breath. “But the cost…” Alex’s words took a moment to compose herself. To fight back the memories of blood hissing as it hit hot, dry stone. Beneath the table, her skin clenched around the freshly bandaged palm of her right hand.

Parker’s voice cut into Alex’s thoughts with a cool, clear precision. “It was almost too high?” she finished the thought for Alex. 

“Yeah.’

Parker gave her an understanding smile. “It usually is,” she said. “How do you feel about it?” 

How did she feel about literally saving the world? In all the chaos of the last few days, Alex hadn’t been allowed the luxury of time to sit and think about anything regarding her feelings. Having the opportunity was, in truth, overwhelming. An unexpected panic threatened to swallow her whole. To stave off that terrible feeling, Alex did what had always worked for in the past. She focused on the people around her. Or, more importantly, she focused on their stories.

All around her, life went on. The little airport coffee shop bustled with people. Some sitting by themselves, huddled over their phones or plugged into their music, oblivious to the world around them. Others sat in pairs, holding hands under the table and smiling like they would never stop smiling again. Parents, tired but patient, held onto their children and watched the world with cautious eyes. Beyond the small café, travelers came and went without a second thought of stopping for coffee.

“These people look so happy,” Alex said. She spoke slowly, the words coming as they occurred to her. “They have no idea how close we came to the end of the world.” She paused and let that sentence hang in the air, as if gaging its full weight. “And they’ll never know.”

“It’s better that they don’t know.”

The part of Alex that was still a journalist sat up at full attention. “They deserve to know,” she said with conviction. “The people have a right to know. I have to tell them what happened here…they have to be prepared…”

Later, Alex would blame her reaction on a lack of sleep and/or the effects of the adrenalin still leaving her system. For whatever reason, the waitress’s soft greeting made Alex jump in her seat. Fresh faced and very young, the woman blushed and offered her apologies for startling the madame. Alex caught enough to understand that it was the girl’s first day on the job before her limited grasp of French completely failed her.

Once again, Parker’s smooth voice cut through the chaos. “Would you mind if I ordered for the both of us?” she asked Alex. 

Glad to allow the other woman to take charge, Alex nodded in agreement. In flawless, unaccented French, Parker placed their order with the waitress. With another murmured apology to Alex, the waitress left the table.

Parker appeared ready to take up their conversation from where it had been, prior to the waitress’s interruption. Alex had no desire to go back to that line of thought. She was too tired to discuss her mixed emotions, especially with someone she barely knew and hadn’t seen in person in years.

She asked Parker a question instead. “You know why I’m here. What are you doing in Geneva?”

Parker gave her a look. Alex was certain the other woman knew what she was doing and decided to humor her. “We’re here on business,” Parker replied. “A necessary evil of The Centre functioning as a legitimate research facility is the need to attend conferences and present our projects.”

Alex noticed Parker’s use of the word _we_. 

“Is Jarod here too?” she asked. 

While still in college, Alex met the mysterious man she still only knew as Jarod. Alex’s senior advisor was the subject of one of Jarod's “pretends”, a sort of deep cover meets vigilante justice action. Alex's senior project had brought her to his attention…and later, to Miss Parker's as well.

Parker tilted her head in the direction of the counter. “Who do you think is making our coffee?” she said, one eyebrow raised in an unspoken expression of, _can you believe this?_

Alex almost couldn’t believe it. Jarod still had his dark and brooding good looks. Like Miss Parker, he seemed destined to age well. He obviously still had his freakily good skills of adaptation. He moved with the flow and ease of a seasoned barista. His French was as impeccable as Miss Parker’s had been when speaking with the waitress. But seeing him now, compared to him then? It was like looking at another man. There was an openness about him as he spoke with the customers that Alex hadn’t seen in him the last time. 

"Wow,” Alex breathed. “He is really working that coffee.”

Miss Parker cleared her throat. Alex turned back around in her chair. She shrugged her shoulders in an unspoken admission-busted. Alex was in love, but she wasn’t blind.

“So, what’s next for you and your own, personal Dr. Scully?” Parker asked. 

Parker’s tone was light and conversational. Her mouth turned up at the corners in a small smile. Alex appreciated the reference to _The X-Files_ but the levity behind it didn't fool Alex. The investigator in her recognized a certain kind of energy beneath Parker’s question. The older woman had asked Alex that question with a specific answer in mind. 

“The Order of the Cenophus is like a hydra,” Alex said. Strand had criticized her choice of metaphor as unpleasant. “Cut off one head and three more grow back and turn around to bite you in the ass. Richard thinks we’ll probably spend at least the next few years…squashing…baby hydras.” Alex frowned. That might be a bad metaphor after all. It sounded squishy, messy, and gross. “We’re going on a semi-permanent, very low-key vacation.”

Parker nodded. Her face gave none of her thoughts away. “Will you be missed?”

A sense of loss-sharp and hot-pierced her. “No,” she said. “I burned all of my bridges in Seattle.” She resolutely pushed aside the memory of Nic’s hurt face. “My parents think I’m on a wandering tour of Europe to “find myself again”.”

“What about Strand?”

Richard Strand had announced his retirement from both academia and the field of the paranormal. Someone, Alex had no idea who, forwarded her the chain email that circulated among the paranormal community the day after his announcement. After reading it, Alex didn’t know to laugh, throw it in the trash, or let the man read it himself and laugh hysterically as he tore the participants apart verbally. Celebratory toasts were made at several university cocktail parties. Before she left town, A heard rumors that the PNWS interns had bought out half the liquor stores in downtown Seattle for the roast in his honor.

“No one will come looking for him either,” Alex said with complete confidence.

Parker’s blue eyes swept over Alex. After a moment, she nodded. Alex sensed that she’d given the answer Parker wanted to hear. She wondered what that might mean for Richard and her immediate future. 

Parker reached into her handbag. She withdrew a large manila envelope and set it down on the table between them. “I’ve kept this ready for the both of you since season two of The Black Tapes,” Parker said, her voice pitched low for only the two of them to hear. “Don’t open it, just put it in that hideous knapsack of yours. Quickly.” Parker made a moue at the offending knapsack still strung over Alex’s shoulders. “Really, that survived an apocalypse? There is no God.”

Alex picked up the envelope. It felt heavy, almost overstuffed. Even on a semi-permanent vacation, Alex Reagan was still a journalist of questionable ethics. Her need to know kicked in. When Parker was momentarily distracted, Alex sneaked a peek in the envelope. A quick intake of breath was the only reaction she allowed herself. Then she made herself put the envelope in her knapsack as casually if it were nothing more than an oversized birthday card from an old friend.

Parker noticed her quick glance in the folder. “Alex,” she said. Her tone was a warning that she would not take no for an answer.

Alex had to try, for her own peace of mind. “You know I can’t accept these,” she began. Parker waved a hand dismissively, cutting off her words.

“Take them,” she said. “I owe you and I pay my debts.”

“I didn’t do that much…”

“If you hadn’t written that article for your college newspaper…”

Alex shook her head. “I think you’re vastly overestimating the reach of that publication,” she said. She remembered saying those exact same words to Jarod. Then later again, under interrogation, to the woman currently sitting across the table.

“That article caught Jarod’s attention,” Parker said. “Your background research into the Vespian cult contained a vital piece of information. Thanks to you, Jarod and I came to the realization that those God forsaken scrolls had survived my father’s attempt to destroy them. We recovered them and gained the leverage we needed to bring down The Centre.” She smiled at Alex. “And no small part of our success is due to you.”

Alex’s stomach squirmed. She had nothing against accepting credit where credit was due. But there was something in Parker’s praise that made her uncomfortable. It felt like a smoke screen meant to hide another purpose behind the woman’s words. 

Her burner phone chirped. Alex pulled it out of a pocket in the knapsack. A quick tap showed her a text message. It was simple and short. _Ready. Five minutes_.

“That’s Richard,” she told Parker. “He’s waiting outside with the car. We planned to drive to France.” Alex’s fingers accidentally brushed against the fabric of the knapsack. The outline of the envelope was already oddly comforting. “I guess we have more options now.”

“Including one you’ve never considered,” Parker said. “In that packet, you’ll also find job materials for The Centre. If you and Strand ever consider returning to the United States, there are jobs waiting for you both.” Her eyes cut quickly to the bag, then just as quickly back to Alex. “The paperwork will hold up. I would personally oversee any security you would require. Think about it.” 

During the entire conversation, Alex felt the other woman leading the conversation towards a particular end. Alex thought nothing else could shock her after the last 48 hours. Finding out she was wrong in that assumption would have been more annoying if Alex were less tired. 

“Why would you do this for us?” she asked.

Parker reached back into her purse. She pulled out three pictures. One picture looked newer and less worn than the others. She handed all three over to Alex. “Ask Richard to explain these to you,” she said. She stood and gathered up coat and purse. “Tell him Miranda says it’s payback.”

With those parting words, Parker turned and walked out of the café. Alex quickly lost track of her in the crowd. How a stand out like Miss Parker managed to blend into a crowd and disappear with such ease, Alex had no idea. She did know she’d really love to learn that trick herself. 

Especially now, when she felt someone’s eyes on her back. Alex turned towards the coffee bar, the direction she felt the attention coming from. Jarod smiled at her, then indicated four to go coffee cups on the counter in front of him. He sketched a small wave to her and picked up two of the cups and stepped out from behind the coffee bar. He disappeared into the crowd with the same ease as Miss Parker displayed a moment before. 

Alex walked over to the bar. A pretty girl had taken Jarod’s place. Alex smiled at her and the girl smiled back, nodding in the direction of the two coffee cups. Picking up the closest cup, Alex turned it around in her hands until she found her name written on the side. The second cup had Richard’s name written on the side. Alex brought the cup up to her nose and inhaled the familiar scent of tea. She gave a silent thanks to Jarod for remembering the little details about everyone he met.

Carrying one cup in each hand, Alex made her way out of the small café. In her knapsack, the burner phone chirped again. Alex shuffled her bag to the side, resting the two cups on top of an information kiosk. With her free hand, she fished her phone out of her bag. She read the text message. _Slight delay. Five more minutes_.

Alex looked around for a place to sit. She found a small seating area out of the way of traffic and sat down. She carefully balanced the two cups on the seat beside her. It was then she realized that she still held the pictures from Parker in her left hand. They were slightly damp and smelled of tea but the images were still able to be made out.

Alex shuffled through the photos. The first picture showed Miss Parker and Jarod as children, the two of them perhaps seven or eight years old. Alex didn’t recognize the two adults with them. She thought the man looked kind and the woman, who had to be Parker’s mother, had an air of sweetness about her. 

The second picture was an unexpected surprise. Two more children, and one adult but Alex easily recognized all three. Staring up at her from the past was severe expression of Howard Strand, the rebellious spark of his youngest child Cheryl Strand, and the blank impassivity of his oldest child Richard Strand.

The last polaroid contained the children only: Miss Parker, Jarod, Richard, and Cheryl. A red arrow along the edge of the margin indicated that the photo should be turned over. Alex turned the photo over. Scrawled in an unfamiliar hand across the back in red ink was a simple sentence. RED FILES ALTOGETHER.

Alex had no idea what that meant. 

The burner phone chirped. _Ready_.

Alex took one last look at the pictures. Then she stuffed them in the smallest pocket of her knapsack. The pocket where they could easily be forgotten. She had other things to worry about. Things of greater importance than some grainy polaroids hinting at another mystery to chase. 

To start with, a knapsack holding two complete sets of forged identities. Alex stood up and tightened the strap of her bag across her shoulder. She picked up both cups and started walking. As she walked through the doors, out to Richard Strand and their shared future, her steps never faltered.


End file.
